Words for His Widow

James Zoller Now the house is empty – friends gone back to other places; family, children, resuming their lives. Quiet settles like dust. Today the house must be cleaned – a tidy gesture after the chaos of condolences. And tomorrow? Tomorrow, perhaps, pausing as you climb the stairs, touching my picture as you go, you will sense how long I have been away – how young I am becoming – how we were happy. Take that happiness with you as you finish climbing, feeling too small to fill this house, every sound your own sound. Would you have lived differently had you known? Would I? Would it have made this moment easier? On the landing you open the window to unsettle the quiet. The wild voices of water rush in. It is spring. Last night’s untimely snow is melting, running from the roof running from the roofs of all the houses along the street. Laughing, singing it runs down hill – water, water everywhere running for the sea. The river has blundered over its banks, churning, shouting! you know the sound – the furious insensible loud river of grief. ~~~~~ Next: The Life of the River